Touching Down(47)

I’d lost weight over the past year, so most of my clothes were a bit loose, but this one still fit well. I’d been small my whole life, one of the side effects of being born to a mother who’d been using during her pregnancy, but somehow this dress made my legs look almost . . . long, and it evened out the occasional bulge and roll that I had earned during motherhood.

It was close to seven, so I hurried to finish getting ready, which didn’t take much time. Slipping on a pair of heels, pinning my hair up into something that semi-resembled elegant, and a few strokes of makeup finished my look.

As soon as I was done, I hurried out of the room to keep myself from getting nervous all over again from acknowledging this was my first date in seven—seven—years.

I heard Charlie and Mrs. Kent talking in the kitchen. They’d been busy making dinner earlier, but it sounded like they’d moved on to working on dessert. I could just make out Mrs. Kent going over the finer points of making a homemade piecrust.

At least Charlie would learn to cook from somebody. In my book, cooking was a necessity, a survival mechanism, but I knew from getting to know Mrs. Kent that she cooked for pleasure. It was a foreign concept and one I’d never thought to look for in my daughter, but it was apparent Mrs. Kent and cooking had struck a chord with Charlie.

For the thousandth time that day alone, I was reminded why reaching out to Grant had been the right decision.

I’d just passed the kitchen when I heard the doorbell ring. My forehead creased as I started for the front door. We weren’t expecting anyone, but that didn’t mean Grant wasn’t.

My face ironed out with surprise when I discovered who was waiting out front. “Why are you at the front door?” I was used to him coming in through the back door, which was closest to the pool house. “And why are you ringing the doorbell to your own front door?”

Grant didn’t say anything. He just stood there with a smile that suggested we were the only two people in the world in on some great secret. That smile was so hypnotic, it took me a moment to notice how nice he looked all dressed up, and what he was holding in one of his hands.

“Because this is a date,” he said, opening the small plastic box. “And when you show up for a date, you come to the front door and ring the doorbell.”

I tried to hide the way he was making me swoon by looking at me the way he was. I didn’t think I was very convincing.

“And in what book does it say you have to show up to a date with a corsage in hand?” My eyes dropped to the ornate corsage he was pulling out of the box.

He shrugged, opening the wristband for my hand to slide through. “My book.” After he positioned the corsage on my wrist, he kept my hand in his, admiring the way it looked.

“I like your book, Grant Turner.”

“That’s good. Since you’re on every page in that book.” He moved a few pieces of greenery around, fiddling with the ivory ribbon. “Besides, I owe you a corsage. I owe you a whole mess of corsages.”

I shook my head. Grant had never had enough money to buy me a corsage for any of the dances we’d gone to in high school. Hell, we’d had to sneak into most of them because we couldn’t scrounge up enough between us to afford a ticket. He’d always felt so terrible about it, but I’d never felt like I was missing out on a thing. I didn’t need the right corsage when I had the right guy.

“You owe me nothing.”

Before he could reply, the sound of footsteps charging closer interrupted him. “Mom, Mom! Look what Grant . . . I mean Dad got me!” Charlie slid to a stop, giving Grant an apologetic look. “Sorry. I’m still getting used to it.”

“It’s okay, kiddo. Trust me, Grant and Dad are the two nicest names on the long list of names I’ve had come my way. I’m happy with either.”

Charlie grinned and glanced at me, tapping the new hat on her head. “Isn’t it great, Mom? The whole team signed it. Even the coaches too.”

Leaning over, I took a minute to inspect the New York Storm hat she was wearing proudly. There was hardly any blank space left from all of the signatures scribbled on it. Of course Grant’s name was written ten times larger than anyone else’s, front and center.

“Wow, that’s a treasure. I bet you could sell that online and put aside some money for college.”

Charlie’s face blanched. “What? No way. I wouldn’t sell this for a million bucks.”

“And I’ve already got her college fund . . . funded.”

My head twisted Grant’s way, a single brow lifting.

“What? She’s my only kid. I make gobs of money. Gobs,” he repeated when I started to sigh. “My financial planner recommended some education plan, so she’s all set. You know, when that day comes.”